I hate nice.
And if you asked someone to describe me in one word, they would pick ‘nice’.
Nice is boring. Nice is fine. Nice is the heroines best friend. Nice is a handshake, a serviceable pair of shoes, or an easy listening radio station.
But I like people. Even when warped with my own concerns or ridiculously busy, I find I can spare a smile, a word, or just listen for a moment and it makes the day better.
So I am learning to value the part of me that is nice, although I may wish to be wicked or passionate or diverting.
Will attempt a rephrase:
Nice is being with a friend. Nice is holding hands. Nice is someone noticing your shoes. Nice is singing along to an old favorite song.